Legacy of Shadows
by Frosteh
Summary: A tale of fate and destiny, vengeance and war as a young warrior seeks his birthright and another beast seeks revenge. Centered around the wildcats of the Greeneyes line. Rating for safety. [ON HIATUS]
1. It Begins

LEGACY OF SHADOWS

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are mine. Redwall belongs to Brian Jacques. Work it out for yourself.

CHAPTER ONE: HOW IT BEGAN

A sprawling camp had taken shape; completely filling the small clearing that had been located by a vermin scout. Rough canvas tents had been erected using any branch that came to paw as the horde sought shelter from the threatening clouds that roiled in the stormy sky above. The storm would break at any moment, and nobody wanted to be caught out in the open at this time of year; the winter storms could be brutal.

They were a mixed bunch, mostly stoats and ferrets with a smattering of foxes and weasels, and one or two rats. The largest tent, which had been set up in the centre of the camp, was owned by the leader of this particular group of vermin. He was a wildcat by the name of Lisk Greeneyes, who had attracted a ragged group of followers on the strength of the now infamous Greeneyes name and was now attempting to turn them into a fighting unit.

Young, not long full grown, he was slender and wiry and swift. Not yet come into his full growth, he would be almost as large and heavy as a Badger Lord some day. Even now he was a fearsome figure as he lounged in the centre of his tent, biting absently at a chunk of bread and examining a map of the area that was spread out before him. Those legendary green eyes were narrowed in concentration, but even at rest his expression was cruel; like almost all vermin leaders, he ruled by strength and by terror, and he had much in common with one of the more infamous of his family: Tsarmina.

Lisk was as ambitious as his forebears, and much like his ancestor Verdauga he wished a base for himself, a fort or castle where he could operate from until he controlled a sizeable area surrounding that one point. It would also help him to keep control over the beginnings of his horde, who were growing troublesome with the constant marching in poor conditions with little food. If nothing else, they would need some sort of permanent hideout to shelter over the winter, or they would be trapped by snowstorms and perish.

Musing, the young wildcat turned his attention to the problem of his horde. He had gathered the vermin by the simple method of forcing any he came across to join him and threatening to kill them if they deserted. It had worked, but they were far from the elite fighters he needed; instead he had the flotsam and jetsam of other bands, the leftover scraps of worthless rabble. His lip curled in contempt, but they served as a beginning. The brightest could learn and the slowest could take the impact of any fighting and aid him to enlist other vermin, until eventually he would have a decent following.

They moved too slowly. The unit contained many family groups with young ones; they were untidily organised and slow. He dared not eliminate them for fear of mutiny; not even he could stand if every vermin decided to rebel at once. But for now those with young were slowing his band and he had to do something soon. Brooding, the wildcat's eyes began to come alight; burning with a fey cruelty that was the reason so many vermin feared him despite his youth. His tail began to twitch dangerously as his temper built, and finally he rose and began to pace, thinking.

Out in the camp, the vermin all had rough shelter of one sort or another and were wearily settling down to eat what little food they had remaining; nobeast was willing to forage with the weather so bad. Those few with families had claimed places further from the edge of camp, the safer spots.

A few minutes after all was quieting down for the night, a vermin guard came speeding through the darkness; no fires had been lit, for everything was too damp to burn, and it was beginning to rain. The guard, a ferret named Crookfang, scratched at the canvas of the first tent he reached and a stoat thrust his head out. "What?"

"Pass the word, mate. Lisk's comin' out, an' he's in a right temper. Says we're movin' too slow 'cos of our families an' he's 'ad enough."

"What's 'e gonna do, Crook?"

"I dunno, mate, but I reckon it's gonna be bad. Tell the others, willya?"

Word spread quickly that the wildcat was about to leave his tent and come into camp, and that he was angry. It grew very quiet and very tense, each vermin practically holding their breath in an attempt to avoid being noticed and singled out by an angry wildcat. Lisk knew the effect he had on them, which was precisely why he had allowed the guard to overhear his muttering; he wanted them nervous and wondering what was going to happen. He was relying on their fear to succeed in what he was about to do unchallenged.

Emerging from his tent, the wildcat arched his back and hissed softly to himself. Dressed in a blood-red tunic and black cloak, he made a barbarously splendid sight. Prowling between the tents, he finally ordered the horde to gather in the open space at the centre of the camp and stood waiting impatiently as they slunk out into the rain to take their places.

He told them bluntly that the young ones were holding them up and if they continued moving so slowly they would be caught by the winter storms and likely all perish. Lisk announced further that he intended to ratify this situation immediately. His green eyes roved the gathered vermin and he singled out a family of foxes in the second rank - a dog, vixen and four very young cubs. He remembered that they had been born just a few weeks before. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at the dog fox. "Slate, isn't it?" he said, his voice deceptively friendly.

The fox, a big male from the Northlands, nodded warily. "Aye, sire…" Lisk beckoned with a claw.

"Bring your family up here, please," he requested softly. Slate exchanged a glance with his mate, and the wildcat's eyes hardened. "Now."

Slowly the foxes moved out to face the warlord, and the other vermin breathed a callous sigh of relief that it hadn't been them chosen to face Greeneyes' wrath. Lisk surveyed the small group and smiled slightly, coldly. "Now, these youngsters are obviously unable to travel at the faster pace we need to move at with winter so close. So, this leaves us with a problem, doesn't it now?"

The vixen stepped forward a pace protectively; like all vixens she was defensive of her young, although later all maternal feelings would vanish like smoke. Black Tip she was known as, for her brush was tipped with black rather than white, but her real name was Tristis Damsontongue of the line of Shang. But she kept silent, not daring to antagonise the wildcat, and she didn't meet his eyes.

Lisk laughed harshly as he eyed the pair. "What do you suggest I do?"

"We'll leave," Slate said heavily after a short pause. "We'll nae bother ye again, sire. Just let us go in peace?"

The wildcat shook his head thoughtfully, whiskers twitching. "Oh, I don't think I could do that, Slate. I would lose two valuable horde members that way. No, I have a better solution." He lashed out with a heavy paw and hooked one of the cubs, dragging the squealing youngster forward by the vicious and effective method of sinking a claw into the young fox's paw and pulling. An unearthly silence fell over the horde as Lisk calmly slew the fox cub and turned to face the family, his eyes gloating as he saw the shock and fear in their eyes.

A moment later the vixen lunged at him, a dagger appearing in her paw. Casually he struck her in the face, sending her flying into the massed ranks of the horde surrounding them. Turning, he smiled and thrust a paw out in front of him, saying, "On second thoughts, maybe they aren't so valuable after all." Slate's desperate charge ended with a jarring impact as he ran full onto Lisk's outstretched claws. The dog fox fell bleeding, obviously dying, and the wildcat turned to the remaining three cubs. The young foxes cowered as he surveyed them before seizing the nearest and killing her instantly. Recovering her paws, Black Tip stood shakily, her hind leg almost buckling beneath her where she'd damaged the paw on landing. Balancing, wincing as Lisk killed another cub and turned to the last youngster, she threw the dagger.

He hissed in pain and clapped a paw to his cheek, where a line of red slashed through his fur and began to bleed. Angrily he lashed out at the last cub, killing him with a single blow, and whirled on the vixen who stood waveringly and glared hate at him. The assembled vermin held their breath.

Then, surprisingly, Lisk began to laugh. Wiping blood from his face with an already bloodied paw, leaving crimson streaks in his fur, he laughed as though it were some amusing joke. He was still laughing cruelly as he stepped on Slate's body, walking slowly towards the defiant Black Tip. Backhanding her with a savage blow, he laid her out unconscious and snapped at a nearby stoat who had been on guard, "Let a little blood from her face and body and bind her to a tree. Leave her for the crows."

Turning, he faced the horde who were staring at him in abject terror. Pointing to the bodies, he snarled, "Make your choices. I will not allow deserters, but from tomorrow any who cannot keep up will be slain. Any who protest this will die slowly as this vixen will do."

Whirling on his heel, the wildcat stalked away to his tent as whispers rose behind him. At dawn they moved out, leaving behind a few hastily buried bodies and the unconscious vixen tied to a tree.

Slowly Black Tip stirred, coming back to consciousness and licking dried blood from her muzzle. Blinking, she looked around at the deserted clearing, noting with bitterness the shallow graves of her mate and cubs. A crow stood not three pawlengths from her, its head on one side as it eyed her thoughtfully. Kicking out, she startled it into flying off and settled to begin the gruelling task of biting and pulling at the ropes to free herself, a dreadful rage burning in her eyes as she worked, constantly muttering curses against Lisk Greeneyes for what he had done.

Finally free, she stood up and searched until she found her discarded dagger, left behind when the horde left. Holding up the blade, she spoke aloud. "This knife has tasted your blood, Lisk, and I vow that it will do so again." Drawing the dagger across her paw, her blood dripped to earth as she made the blood vow. Sheathing the blade, she licked the cut and then turned and struck out west, away from the horde's trail. One day she would be revenged against that wildcat.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

This is my third fanfic. I hope you like it so far. If you do, review and tell me how much you worship and adore me. If you don't like it, then tell me why or I shall ignore you and treat you as a bug to be squashed beneath my feet. The button's right there. Go on, click it. Click it…

Frosteh loves you


	2. It Continues

LEGACY OF SHADOWS

Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Kayla Silvercat and Ferahgo the Assassin, this chapter is for you two. And for The lunatic who cares… I do indeed know exactly what you mean!

CHAPTER TWO: IT CONTINUES

It was dawn on the eastern fringes of Mossflower Wood. A light mist hung in the air, turned golden by the rising sun; the grass was wet with dew, and birds began to call softly in the trees. The air was tranquil and peaceful. In the distance a sound shattered the stillness, a drumming of paws; a large number of beasts was headed through the area at speed.

A robin perched on a branch with his feathers fluffed out was waiting for the sun to warm the air. Looking down, he saw a column of vermin running past and blinked in confusion as they sped by below him. Panting, the assorted vermin shouldered one another as they ran, desperately striving to keep up, as Lisk had made it clear that anyone who couldn't keep the pace would be left behind to the tender mercy of the first woodlander to find them.

Lisk's band now numbered over a hundred, all fighting vermin; no families and youngsters held him back now. The wildcat's search had led him to Mossflower, where so many of his family had come to grief: Ungatt Trunn, Verdauga, Tsarmina, all had met their deaths in this area. Lisk wasn't stupid and had no intention of lingering in such a place; he had given orders that they moved as fast as possible and did not stop until they were clear of the woodlands. He led them at a flat out run, silent save for the thudding of their paws and their panting breath as they moved swiftly.

Vermin struggling to match the wildcat's pace began to discard anything that might slow them down, forgotten belongings littering the wide trail of pawprints as they ran, each striving to keep their positions in the column. There were legends about the warriors of this area, and every vermin knew the names of those who had come to grief trying to fight them, names such as Cluny the Scourge and other war leaders. None of them wanted to join the ranks of the dead any time soon. So without a word of complaint, they followed Lisk, knowing their lives were at stake.

A lot had happened in the several years Lisk had been wandering with his band. He had encountered a female wildcat, a mountain creature with a vicious temper to match his own, and she had born him a son. Lisk had killed his mate in the end, for she had been too ambitious, and a female stoat had been given the kitten to guard and feed. Lisk had all but forgotten the brat and cared nothing for his son. Barely a season old, the little beast rode in a sling over the stoat's shoulders, but his nurse was one of the older members of the horde and was finding the pace a struggle. Terrified of being left behind, she callously ripped the sling free and tossed it aside; free of the burden, she managed a brief spurt of speed and held her place for a gruelling mile more before being knocked down and trampled by other desperate vermin.

The kitten meanwhile rolled clear of the sling and stood on the grass beside the trail for a while, recovering his breath. By some strange twist this spot was eerily similar to the spot where another warlord's son, born in similar circumstances, had been thrown aside by his vermin nurse; only then it had been a ferretbabe with six claws on his left forepaw, and not a striped wildcat kitten with a medallion looped around his neck bearing the mark of the Thousand Eyes, a family heirloom of sorts.

A little older than that long-ago babe, the wildcat could walk, if barely. Stumbling into the trees, the small kitten began an uncertain journey into Mossflower, moving slowly on all four paws and focused entirely on not falling over. Later he would realise he was hungry and attempt to feed, with little success; he would wander for several days before his fate was decided.

On a misty evening some days later a hermit sat huddled close to a small fire where a blackened iron pot stood filled with some sort of soup; a vixen wrapped snugly in a dark green barkcloth cloak, idly stirring the bubbling liquid with a long dagger. There were several lone vermin eking out an existence on the edges of the woodland; years before they had been the beginnings of Lisk's band, loners he had uprooted and forced along with him. This vixen was just one among many, no different from any other lone fox, save for one thing – her brush was tipped with black.

Black Tip had given up trying to follow the horde's movements. Almost a year before, she had come to this spot at the edge of the woodland and made her camp, and there was no reason to move yet. Eventually she would learn where Lisk had made his base; until then she had food and water in plentiful supply and a relatively peaceful existence here. Now she licked the dagger blade clean at a distant noise in the woodlands and grasped the hilt firmly in her paw, moving to a crouch and glancing in the direction the noise came from, tense.

After such a display of caution, she was amused when the source of the noise revealed itself to be a tiny wildcat kitten, barely able to stand on four paws. Completely unafraid, it looked at her with the wide blue eyes of an infant, utterly innocent and strangely bold. Still alert, she scanned the surrounding area for any sign of its family – she had no desire to tangle with wildcats again! – but heard and saw nothing. Puzzled, she studied the kitten and noted its emaciated state and matted fur; clearly the littlebeast had been abandoned.

Crouching, she held out a paw to the kitten, which sniffed it carefully before looking up at her and mewing pitifully. Reminded forcibly of her own dead brood, the vixen felt sorry for the youngster and scooped some of the soup from the pan into a carved wooden bowl. The kitten ate eagerly, ignoring the heat of the liquid, and when it was finished he allowed himself to be picked up and examined.

When she saw the medal about his neck, Black Tip stiffened and carefully took the metal circle from him. Turning it over, she traced the emblem of the Greeneyes family since Verdauga's time, the Thousand Eyes. This, then, must be Lisk's son.

Drawing her dagger, she placed the point beneath the kitten's chin, coldly preparing to slit its throat. Calmly the youngster looked up, wide blue eyes looking into yellow-green, and meowed inquisitively. Her paw trembled as she held the knife and steeled herself to make the thrust; he was younger than her cubs had been when they had been killed, and so innocent and helpless. Still looking at her, the striped kitten's eyes closed briefly in a long yawn, and she took the blade away. Vermin she might be, but she could not bring herself to kill an infant.

Searching her meagre belongings, she found a small blanket, a little ragged at the edges but perfectly suitable all the same. Lifting the kitten, she settled the cloth around him and the small wildcat dozed off in her lap as the vixen watched the firelight reflecting in the carved eyes on the medallion. Finally she whispered softly to the night:

"Lisk, one day your own son will kill you. I will raise him and care for him and I will train him against the day that father and son meet. You will die at the paws of this son you abandoned, and your blood will avenge the memories of my mate and cubs."

Looking down at the kitten, she laid a paw upon the striped head and named him. "Kayto of the Thousand Eyes. Kayto Greeneyes."

END OF CHAPTER TWO

Oh, the drama…


	3. The Early Days

LEGACY OF SHADOWS

Disclaimer: As before

CHAPTER THREE: THE EARLY DAYS

Kayto's claws sank deeper into the slippery bark as he sought a better hold. He was almost three quarters of the way up a tall beech tree, trying to reach a pigeon's nest in the higher branches; eggs were a welcome treat. Shifting position, he looked around him for a pawhold, emerald green eyes intent and focused.

The young wildcat was twelve seasons or so of age now, about two-thirds of the way into his adult growth. His striped fur was short still rather than thick and shaggy; he lacked bulk but had the almost scrawny look of a beast who has grown a lot in a short space of time. Dressed simply in a dark green tunic, with a short knife thrust through the plain black belt at his waist, there was nothing particularly unusual about him. He was secretly relieved to have been sent out to forage; lately he had been growing irritated with his foster mother. Black Tip had taught him to fight ever since his third season, but now Kayto was at an age where he preferred to be roaming the woodlands, climbing, walking, fishing or hunting; he didn't want to train at the same task for hours on end.

Clinging deftly, he sank his hind claws into the trunk for extra grip and loosed one paw, reaching up for the next hold. The branch snapped off and he was left awkwardly hanging by one paw, supporting a little of his weight on a footpaw jammed into a crevice and frantically seeking another hold before he lost his grip.

Then the branch he was holding on to began to creak threateningly. The young wildcat stared at it as though willing it to hold, feeling about him frantically as he sought an alternative. Looking around, he saw a branch just out of reach above him that would hold him; this was going to be tricky. Tensing, he sank all ten hind claws into the tree trunk and let go with his forepaws, kicking upwards in a desperate half-leap that made his muscles ache in protest. He just barely caught hold of the branch with one paw and was almost undone when the claws of one footpaw didn't come free of the trunk.

Muscles screaming in pain, Kayto jerked free and hauled himself up onto the thicker branch. Leaning back against the trunk panting, he wiped a paw across his brow and grinned; that had been a close one. Working sore muscles, he stood up carefully and pulled himself upwards, jamming his body into a corner between two branches. Setting his back against the trunk and planting each footpaw on a separate branch, he steadied himself and reached out for the nest with his free paw, carefully lifting free his prizes and placing them inside a pouch at his belt before beginning to slide awkwardly back down the tree. Dropping the last few feet, he landed deftly and set off at an easy lope back to the den.

Black Tip was pleased to see him, and placed the eggs carefully in their small store of food. Then the vixen turned with an expression Kayto knew all too well, and with a sinking heart he saw she was holding his bow. The sturdy longbow was newly made by Kayto himself, under the vixen's guidance, and he was learning archery, the last skill she could teach him. He had learned staff and spear, knife and dagger, sling and weaponless fighting; he could not learn the sword here, since they did not have one for him to use.

"Time to practise, Kayto."

Rebelliously, he stood his ground and curled his lip. "I've done nothing but fire that stupid bow most of every day since I made it."

"And you're still missing the target half the time. You'll keep drilling with it until you learn, same as you did with everything else we've studied."

"What for?" he snapped. "What's the point? We've never seen anybeast around here. Why am I learning all this when there's nobeast to fight? It's a waste of time."

She was silent for a moment before finally answering softly, "You're wrong, Kayto. You have a great enemy who you must someday fight and kill if you are to survive, for if he learns you still live he will try to destroy you."

He looked at her blankly, not understanding what she was saying. He had never known anybeast other than her; how could he have an enemy who hated him? "Who?" he asked.

"Your father."

A long silence fell as the young wildcat bit his lip. She had never told him anything other than that she had found him wandering as a kitten and had taken him in; he hadn't known that she knew his parents. "You know my father?" he asked finally.

"Of course I do," she said sharply. "You're not stupid, Kayto. Use your head." Seeing his expression, she went on in a softer voice. "Yes, I know him. Or I knew him, once. Come with me."

She led him into the cave and from a dark corner pulled out a metal disc on a chain. He had never seen it before. "This is yours by right of birth and blood. It was around your neck when I found you; it is how I knew who you were." Taking it, Kayto traced the design with a paw, examining the eyes carved in minute detail upon the surface.

"What does it mean?"

She regarded it with almost loathing. "It is the emblem of your family, the sign of the Thousand Eyes, carried by the Greeneyes family since the days of Verdauga."

"Verdauga?" He was stunned. Black Tip had told him many legends of famous vermin leaders and taught him of the wars they had fought; he had heard the name Verdauga before. "I'm descended from him?"

"Yes," she replied. "Your name is Kayto Greeneyes, Lord of the Thousand Eyes by right, although you cannot claim that title until you have killed your father."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Lisk."

"Why do I have to kill him?" Kayto asked her. "He is my father. How can he be my enemy?"

She shook her head. "You are an innocent still. Lisk abandoned you when you were barely a season old. I do not know the exact circumstances but he left you to die; it was sheer luck that led you into my camp. You were near death from starvation and exposure when I found you."

He was confused. Kayto had never known his family, and to suddenly learn that his father at least was alive had a profound effect on him. He had always assumed himself to be an orphan, and whilst it had never bothered him he had always felt the lack and wondered who his parents were. Staring at her, he said softly, "I don't want to kill my father."

She snarled at him. "He doesn't love you, Kayto! He doesn't care if you're alive or dead. If you show up at wherever he has made his home, he won't welcome you with open paws; he will try his very best to kill you."

"But why?"

"Because that is the way he is. He doesn't know how to love anything except himself and he will let nothing ruin his plans for the good life. He is a monster and must be killed; I tried once and I failed, and I paid dearly for it. When I found you I took the opportunity to set things in motion so that one day Lisk would be killed…" She trailed off at the expression on her foster son's face, realising that she had gone too far and said too much.

Kayto's eyes blazed. His tail fluffed up and began to twitch, the automatic response of an angry cat; arching his back where he crouched, he hissed softly before speaking. "So I was nothing more than an opportunity?"

Black Tip shook her head frantically, holding out her paws to him. "That isn't what I meant –"

He cut her off by standing. The same height as her, almost an adult, he gazed down at the vixen with the eyes of a kitten for the last time, confused and upset and saddened by what he had heard. Then the childhood innocence was lost in anger, a mask drawn down to hide his feelings. "I was just a tool for you. You saw me and thought that you could use me to make your desires come true. You say my father doesn't love me, but neither do you."

Holding up the medallion before his face, he stared at it for a moment before dropping the chain over his head so that it hung on his chest, then turned and started for the door. Black Tip stood up and called after him, "Kayto, wait! Let me tell you the full story!"

"Why?" he snapped back. "How can I believe anything you say now? All my life you said you cared about me, even said you loved me, but you just wanted to use me. I can't trust you, can I?" More softly, he added in almost a whisper, "I can't trust anything any more."

Dashing a paw across his eyes, he fled outside and ran into the shelter of the trees, heading for the stream.

END OF CHAPTER THREE

A little touch of angst, just to make things interesting…


	4. Revelations

LEGACY OF SHADOWS

Disclaimer: My characters, Brian Jacques' world. Got it?

CHAPTER FOUR: REVELATIONS

The young wildcat was perched in the fork of an ancient weeping willow that overhung the stream. It was a beautiful spot, but this fact was lost upon him at this moment as he stared at the water through eyes blurred with tears. Kayto was still really very young, and it hurt to think that the only mother he had ever known had saved his life simply so she could use him later for a specific purpose, much as she had once fished a long branch out of this stream just so she could teach him to use a staff as a weapon.

Bitterly he wondered what she would do if he ever fought Lisk and lost. Find another warrior, he supposed. He wasn't sure if he should fight his father; she claimed Lisk had never loved him, but Kayto had never met the older wildcat and had no idea if this was true. What did it matter, anyway? He wasn't likely to meet his sire, so it made little difference how they stood. One ear twitched; he could hear her calling him. Let her call; he didn't care any more.

Black Tip stood beneath the willow and looked up at him, paws on her hips, panting. "Kayto, come down here. I need to talk to you."

"I've got nothin' to say to you," came the sullen reply.

"You're not saying anything. I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen if I have to speak loudly enough for the whole of Mossflower to hear. Now are you going to come down, or do I have to shout?"

Kayto reluctantly slid to the ground, knowing that she meant it. If necessary she would shout. The young wildcat was starting to feel ashamed of himself for snivelling like a kitten, and he recalled somewhat guiltily that Black Tip had never told him anything unless it was important that he know it; she had never lied to him either. Except for this once. Staring at the ground, he waited, stubbornly determined not to speak first.

The vixen regarded her young charge wearily. Raising a wildcat was hard work; Kayto was now almost an adult. Fiercely independent, but like any adolescent his self-esteem was very tender; she knew she had hurt him. Shaking her head slowly, she wondered what to say. Black Tip would be the first to admit that she had taken him in for a purpose, but there was far more to it than that; she had not been able to bring herself to harm him and she had in her own way grown to love him, in as much as a vermin could be said to love. He was old enough now to challenge anything she said, and smart enough to spot a lie. She owed him the truth.

Linking paws with him, she said softly, "Walk with me." They started off along the grassy path back towards their den, and after a moment she began to speak.

"When I was a little older than you are now, I lived not far from here. I was one of many loners around these parts, until a band of two dozen or so vermin happened by. Their leader told me I would join them or I would die; he promised plunder and food and easy living. I had no real choice, so I joined, and grew to enjoy it in a way. We roamed around, enlisting other vermin, living off the land whilst the leader searched for a stronghold, a territory of his own. He had plans, you see.

"In time the band numbered over a hundred vermin, and I met a dog fox, a big male from the Northlands named Slate. The band was full of vermin in similar circumstances; at that time many of those gathered up had families, some with young ones as well. Anyway, the long and the short of it was that we became mates, Slate and I, and about a season after that I bore a litter of four healthy cubs.

"But the leader wasn't happy. We were quite far north and needed to travel fast if we were to get clear of the highlands before the winter snows trapped us; and he wanted a fighting force, not a gathering of families with camp followers and babes. He decided that the vermin under him needed to be convinced to leave their families to follow him, and he chose to do so brutally with an example.

"He killed our cubs, all four of them, in front of the whole band. I attacked him; I scarred his face with the dagger I carry now. He threw me aside and almost knocked me out. Slate attacked him then, and he was killed as well. Then the leader ordered me bloodied on face and body and tied to a tree, left for the crows, and the band marched off.

"Eventually I got free and tried to follow them, but I lost the trail and was forced to head south to find shelter for the winter, leaving behind the bodies of my mate and cubs. I wandered back here eventually and settled in once more, knowing that one day I would hear of them again and know where to find my enemy."

Kayto had listened in silence to this tale. He had never heard her story before and found it hard not to show sympathy, but he was still hurt and angry. "I don't see what this has to do with me."

Black Tip looked at him, her eyes filled with a blend of sorrow and anger. "The vermin leader who killed my family was your father, Kayto. It was Lisk Greeneyes I served under faithfully for so long, Lisk Greeneyes who murdered my cubs for no reason other than because he thought the families of his band were slowing us up, Lisk Greeneyes who slaughtered my mate when he sought to defend his brood, and Lisk Greeneyes who left me to die. The same as he left you to die when you were no more than a babe scarce able to walk."

He shook his head slowly, confused, not wanting to believe her. By now they had walked back to their camp and stood again in the clearing where he had lived ever since he could remember; not far from here his father had abandoned him, if Black Tip was to be believed. This was where his own father had left him to die. Her paw moved into his vision; she held on her outstretched paw the medallion engraved with the sign of the Thousand Eyes, the legendary badge of his family.

Lifting his head, he gazed into the vixen's eyes; yellow-green shadowed gaze met emerald green gaze for a long moment before Kayto looked away. He could see that it was true. Taking the metal disc from her, he turned to over in his paws, examining it to help clear his mind. It looked to be an alloy, at least partly gold but with enough other metal mixed in to make it strong and durable. The chain it hung from was the same. It looked very old.

The wildcat thought about what was expected of him. He could not feel any liking for his father once he had learned that the other was alive and had not attempted to find him; after hearing what Lisk had done he was filled with something not too far from hatred. But it all seemed so futile; what good would training do? He doubted he would ever find Lisk. Then again, they did hear news from travellers sometimes; if the warlord had managed to establish himself anywhere they would hear of it eventually. And then?

He thought about Black Tip and tried to imagine what it must have been like for her, with her mate and cubs dead and only a faint hope and a terrible, all-consuming hate keeping her alive until finally Fate seemed to offer her the chance she sought in the shape of a tiny kitten, betrayed by the same enemy who had taken her family. It occurred to him that he was in part a replacement for her lost family; it must be terribly lonely living out here alone.

Finally Kayto made his decision. Wordlessly, he hung the chain about his neck so that the Thousand Eyes symbol rested on his chest, and tucked it beneath his tunic. Silently he walked into the cave, and came out a few moments later with bow and quiver; walking past Black Tip and out beyond the ashes of their fire, he hung the simple painted target on a convenient branch. Backing up to a decent distance, he set himself and began to shoot, all without a word. His choice was made.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR

It's going slowly at the moment, I'll admit, but the quest itself should start in the next two or three chapters and then hopefully it should become more interesting. The more you review the more inspired I will be, so keep 'em coming.

Frosteh


	5. Rumour

LEGACY OF SHADOWS

Disclaimer: As before

CHAPTER FIVE: RUMOUR

Another few seasons passed, and the two vermin moved camp finally to bring them closer to an often-travelled route. The first beast they met was a vicious-tempered stoat who tried to kill them on sight; Kayto used the experience as his first battle and won fairly easily. This gave him a lot more confidence and it also meant they had a sword for him to practise with, albeit a rusty and poor quality blade. Black Tip had never used a sword, so Kayto was forced to try and learn by himself, as well as keeping up training with other weapons and unarmed.

Whilst the vixen grew more edgy as the days drifted past with no sign of a traveller who might bring word of the one they sought, Kayto was now old enough to appreciate the hiatus. He was using the time to grow, and every day brought him closer to the adult strength and bulk he would need if he was to survive. As he neared maturity the young wildcat had become a quiet and reflective beast; once his initial anger had subsided, the knowledge that he existed for a purpose brought a sense of peace. He knew where his life was headed and there was little uncertainty.

But time was growing short, and not only for him. Black Tip had been a mature vixen when she ran with Lisk's horde, and much as he hated to see it, she was growing older. It was Kayto who did all the hunting now, who built their shelter when it rained since this area had no convenient cave, who scouted the area continually for signs of otherbeasts. He drilled and practised combat alone now, because he was simply too strong for his foster mother and winning every match against a weaker opponent would not prepare him to fight a stronger one.

Kayto enjoyed their peaceful existence here near the road, but he knew it could not last forever. Sooner or later their idyllic life would end and he would be forced to grow up fast, so he enjoyed his youth while he still could. Watching the vixen age had given him a sense of mortality and he knew with cold clarity that it was likely he would not live much longer.

It was on a cold clear winter morning some months later that everything changed.

Kayto was down by the river, scowling at the uncooperative layer of ice that prevented him filling his water flask. The ice had grown thicker each morning until now he had to resort to jumping up and down, slamming his forepaws down with a pouncing motion to try and break through. Claws extended, he smashed downwards again, breath steaming in the cold air. A hairline crack rewarded his efforts, and he was about to jump again when he heard a distant sound, a sharp whistle that he recognised. Jumping up, he turned and began to run back towards their camp.

His only weapon was a short, broad-bladed dagger thrust through his belt; everything else was back in camp. But he didn't need any weapon other than lightning reflexes, sharp claws and muscles that were slowly becoming hard and tough. The wildcat flew through the ice-bound woods, dead leaves crackling underpaw, until he was close to the clearing they had set up home in; then he slowed to a walk and went to all four paws, moving with all his feline stealth, senses alert.

He saw Black Tip standing with her back to the rough canvas tent he had rigged up, facing three vermin - two weasels and a ferret. The bigger weasel was obviously the leader, and Kayto noted with annoyance that the other vermin held his best knife in one paw and the ferret was holding his bow.

As he watched the situation became clear. The hoped-for travellers had arrived, but not in the shape of a lone vermin inclined to share news in exchange for a hot meal; instead this trio had run across the camp, and finding only one old vixen in residence had decided to have some fun before taking what they pleased of their belongings.

"I wouldn't do this, if I were you," the vixen said calmly.

The weasel laughed. "An' who's gonna stop us? You?" His friends sniggered appreciatively; but the sound was cut off suddenly as a calm voice said from behind them, "No. I am."

The three whirled and found a young wildcat leaning against a tree with his arms folded, watching them through half-closed green eyes. The two smaller vermin exchanged glances, but the big weasel charged with a snarl and they followed, knowing their only chance was to completely overwhelm their opponent.

The fight was short and sweet. Kayto sidestepped, seized the smaller weasel by the tunic and threw him into the leader. He then dropped flat as the ferret shot an arrow; the shaft whizzed by past his head and he stood up, throwing himself into a leap and cannoning into the ferret. A paw shot out, and his claws extended as he hit the ferret's chest, and the vermin fell with blood foaming at his lips and a look of surprise on his face.

Turning, the wildcat was hit by the weasels from each side. Ducking and rolling, he knocked the footpaws out from under the larger and sent him flying into his companion, and stood over the pair of them with his paws on his waist, glaring down at them. He noted the flicker of surprise in the larger weasel's eyes, stooped, snatched his dagger back and killed the smaller vermin before stunning the leader with a swift kick to the jaw.

When the weasel awoke, he was tied to a tree. Black Tip sat by the fire some way off, stirring something in a pot; Kayto crouched on his haunches in front of the vermin, watching him intently. When he saw the weasel was awake, he spoke in a level voice. "Your mates are dead, weasel. Your only chance is to cooperate with me. Do as I say and I'll let you live."

The vermin considered it. He was brighter than he looked, but not by much, unfortunately for him. Kayto saw the weasel's eyes narrow with undisguised greed and almost sighed; the idiot thought he was going to get something out of this. "What d'yer want?"

"Information," he replied. "I saw your face when I stood over you. You looked surprised. Why?"

The vermin attempted to sneer. "Information ain't free, puss. What do I get outta this?"

Kayto hit him without emotion. "You get to live," he told the weasel, who now had blood running down his face. "Now answer me."

"That thing round yer neck," his victim panted, spitting blood.

"You know the sign of the Thousand Eyes?" The weasel nodded, and Kayto smiled. "Good. Now we're getting somewhere. What's your name, weasel?"

The grudging reply came. "Fencher."

"Well, Fencher, why don't you tell me where you last saw this sign?"

Some hours later, it was getting dark. Kayto stood up stiffly and padded over to the fire, where Black Tip handed him a cup of water without comment. "Well?"

"He served under Lisk once. He left shortly after you did; got injured in a skirmish and played dead until the horde had moved on."

"And?"

"North," Kayto replied briefly. "Says Lisk wanted a mountain stronghold overlooking a pass if he could, so he could control who went through and who didn't."

She smiled. "Excellent. And now what are you going to do with our informant?"

The wildcat shrugged. "Kill him."

The vixen regarded her adopted son for some time. "You promised to let him live if he cooperated, and he has."

"It's too risky to let him live," he answered. "The fewer beasts who know what we're doing, the less risk. So I lied to him; it's easier than torture."

She shook her head slightly, a sad look on her face as she watched him. Taking his face between both paws, she looked him in the eyes. "Kayto, son, listen to me. There is no point in you doing this and killing Lisk if you turn into his replacement. You have lost much of your innocence; that is the way of the world and a good thing. But don't let it turn to cruelty. Don't let the hate fester inside and turn bad. Fencher told you what you needed; let him live."

The young wildcat gave her a troubled look. His eyes were resigned as he replied, "This is the only way I will survive. I talked with Fencher a while after he told me what we needed to know; he told me much of Lisk. I cannot hope to beat a beast like him unless I can match him. Besides, the world is not a good place any more, Mother; the good will die and the bad will live. That is the way of things."

"But it doesn't have to be," she replied insistently. "You will change the part of the world that concerns us. You can make it better. You must be tough, and you must be able to make certain decisions when you have to, no matter the cost. But that does not mean you need be excessively cruel for the sake of it, as Lisk is. Keep your sense of perspective, Kayto."

"So what do I do with Fencher?"

"That is your decision."

Kayto sat and thought it over. The weasel watched him nervously from his tree; whilst he had no idea what the fox and the wildcat were talking about, he had followed their conversation and understood enough to know his life was in the balance. Finally Kayto stood up and crossed to where the vermin lay bound. Seizing him in one paw by the scruff, he sliced through his bonds with a claw on the other paw and held him up. It took a little effort but not as much as he had thought it would.

"Listen to me, weasel. In a moment I am going to let you go. You are going to run, south, as fast as you can. If you do anything else I will kill you. If I ever set eyes on you again I will kill you. Listen well, Fencher. My name is Kayto Greeneyes, son of Lisk; rest assured that I mean what I say. Understand?"

The weasel stared at him in total shock, finally managing to nod dumbly. The wildcat saw the flicker of greed in his eyes and growled. "You're thinking of running north to send word to Lisk. Don't. Maybe I should cut your tongue out to make sure, what do you think?"

He shook his head, frightened now; he could see that the cat meant it. He was lowered; as soon as his footpaws hit the earth Fencher fled south as instructed. Running hard for almost an hour, he stopped to catch his breath at a pool and drank thirstily. Standing, he thought about it. It didn't take a genius to work out that the son was going to travel north to challenge his father; Fencher was thankful he hadn't told everything. Oh, Lisk had found his fortress all right; luckily the younger wildcat was too soft to use torture. The weasel had held back much, and now he wanted to turn a neat little profit by passing this information on.

Turning west, he struck out, and angled northwest a few minutes later. Less than a minute after this change in direction, a dagger flashed in the sunlight and struck square and true. Kayto wandered over to the dead weasel and kicked him over onto his back, looking down at the vermin's wide-open eyes. "South is that way, Fencher. You should have listened."

Retrieving his dagger, the wildcat strode off without a backward glance, and an hour later moved into camp. Black Tip handed him a small pack without comment and he strapped it across his shoulder easily. Arming up – his bow was broken, but he had a dagger and Black Tip had a long knife; he would get a better weapon as soon as he found a beast carrying one – he looked at her.

"North?" she asked. He nodded, turning.

"North."

END OF CHAPTER FIVE


	6. Travelling

LEGACY OF SHADOWS

Disclaimer: You get the message

CHAPTER SIX: TRAVELLING

Some time had passed since Fencher's death. The wildcat and the vixen were taking their time, moving slowly north towards the far distant mountains, and had passed the infamous Redwall Abbey on their travels, taking care to give it a wide berth. The woodlanders hadn't bothered about two lone vermin, even if one of them was a wildcat, although the pair had been observed until they had moved on far enough to pose no threat.

They had met a few other roving vermin, but since Kayto was almost an adult now and a very imposing figure nearly as large as a full-grown male badger they hadn't encountered any attempts at resistance. Unfortunately, neither had they found any more information. 'North' wasn't much help really – it covered a lot of land.

The few woodlanders they met on the road fled and hid at first sight of the wildcat. Kayto didn't seem to notice; he had been sinking into himself lately and had become very withdrawn. Black Tip had been watching her foster son carefully and was beginning to worry about him, but her attempts to talk to him about it had been met with silence.

It all came to a head a while after they had left the last Redwall scout behind. The two vermin were marching in silence when Kayto said suddenly, "I'm scared."

The vixen looked at him. "Of what?" she asked quietly.

He stared straight ahead of him. "That I'm going to lose, and then I'm going to die. How can I beat someone like Lisk? He's larger, stronger and more experienced than I am."

She watched him silently for a while as he strode onwards, staring fixedly into the distance, fully realising for the first time how much pressure she had put on him to do this. Finally she speeded up and put a paw on his shoulder. "Lisk is getting older, and he has not faced a serious challenger in many long seasons. He will be complacent and will not expect a threat. Besides, he does not know you are alive; surprise counts for a lot."

He looked at her as she continued, "I won't lie to you. It won't be easy to beat him. As you say, he is more experienced, but with skill and care and luck you can win."

Slightly reassured, Kayto nodded briefly, but he knew just how slim his chances were. It never crossed his mind to turn back; he had been raised knowing he would have to fight someone eventually, and after everything he had heard he knew Lisk needed to be stopped. No, he would fight, but whether he would live was another matter.

So they travelled onwards, always moving north. Every evening Kayto trained, knowing his life could depend on it. A brief and ugly battle with a stoat who had caught them by surprise meant that at last the young wildcat had a sword, and he spent a long time attempting to master the new weapon – the one art Black Tip could not teach him, for she had never learned.

Little of note happened during the long trek, save that winter came upon them in earnest; attempting to cross a flat plain towards the distant mountains resulted in a blizzard sweeping across them. Huddled together for warmth beneath a hasty shelter of cloaks propped on sticks, the two watched the swirling white and shivered and tried to stay alive.

Kayto, shivering in the dark space beneath their crude and ineffectual shelter, glanced sideways at the older vixen. Black Tip's eyes were closed, and she wasn't shivering despite being icy cold to the touch. Softly, then with growing anxiety, he called her name until he was rewarded with a gleam from under heavy lids as she opened one eye.

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

"C'ld…" she muttered, eyes drifting closed again. Kayto looked out at the swirling blizzard and shivered, knowing he had no choice but to go out into the storm. They needed better shelter than this, somewhere out of the wind and snow to light a fire, or the old vixen wasn't going to last the night. She couldn't move; he would have to go alone, and hope he made it back in time.

Realising there was no point in waiting, he slithered reluctantly out into the blizzard. Standing shivering in the snow, he pulled off his cloak and shed anything he didn't need, keeping only his thick dark green tunic; piling his possessions around the semi-conscious fox to try and keep her warm, he turned, stared into the whirling whiteness for a moment, shrugged, picked a direction at random and set out.

Before ten minutes had passed he was so cold he couldn't feel his paws or tail. The wind stripped all the warmth from his body, even with his thick striped fur fluffed out. Snowflakes settled in his fur and he could barely see. All in all, Kayto was not a happy cat as he struggled through the snow. Still, there was some sort of dark shape up ahead, indistinctly looming through the storm. Jumping forward awkwardly, the wildcat gave up and went to all four paws, bounding forward towards the shadowy mass.

It turned out to be a huge and inexplicable piece of drystone wall. Kayto stared at it for a while. There didn't seem to be a reason for it, or a beginning, or an end. Just a length of masonry that formed a rough corner. Shrugging, he remembered the urgency of this expedition and turned around, leaping back along his trail as fast as he could run in belly-deep snow before his pawprints filled and vanished.

By sheer luck he made it back to where their crude shelter was all but buried in the snow. Shivering, fangs chattering uncontrollably and so cold it hurt, Kayto clawed frantically at the snow until he uncovered Black Tip. To his relief, she was still breathing, albeit barely. Carefully folding his cloak about their few possessions, he clenched his teeth about the crude bundle thus formed and stood up, picking up the vixen in his paws and holding her against his chest. He was momentarily surprised in a distant way just how easy it was to lift her, but he was too cold to give it much thought now as he turned and plodded back into the teeth of the blizzard.

The trail left by his body forcing through the snow had formed a shallow ditch of sorts, so he didn't get lost, and soon reached the pointless wall again. Moving into the rough corner formed by the damp stone, he dug away some of the snow to create a hollow and erected his cloak across it for a roof, holding it in place by pinning the edges down with his daggers. Wrapping Black Tip in the blanket she had used for a cloak, he laid her beneath the shelter out of the wind and stared out into the whiteness again. It wasn't over. They needed a fire. That meant he had to find wood, and then something dry enough to burn. Sighing, he trudged back into the blistering cold wind that howled more fiercely than ever, and scrabbled under the burning cold snow with searching paws.


	7. Snow

LEGACY OF SHADOWS

CHAPTER SEVEN: SNOW

Black Tip opened her eyes. There were flames burning in front of her, the light bright enough to hurt. Closing her eyes again, she tried to think; the last thing she remembered was the snow and the wind. Fire didn't seem to fit anywhere. Maybe she was dead, then; it was possible. But if she was dead, why did she hurt all over, aching and feeling almost bruised as feeling crept back into her paws?

Opening her eyes again and blinking rapidly, she looked around her drowsily and noticed Kayto sitting to one side with his ragged cloak pulled about his shoulders, carefully turning some wood drying to one side of the flames. She watched him for a while; every so often he put one of the dry sticks into the fire and picked a damp stick from a pile beside him to dry.

Her mouth felt dry and cracked, but she managed to clear her throat and croaked, "Kayto?"

He looked around, relieved. "You're awake. Thought you were gone for a while there," he offered with a crooked grin.

"Well, I guess I'm not," she replied hoarsely.

Given the general vermin mentality, that was more or less the end of the conversation at that point. Silently the pair broke camp and continued trekking through the snow, setting the pattern for the next few days, by which time they were in the proper mountains and frequently had to climb rock faces and steep slopes, always going higher and never seeing another living beast.

Until finally Kayto, plodding stoically through the snow, announced almost idly, "There are fresh pawprints off to our left."

A minute later the snow to the left exploded as a pair of white ermine dressed in pale silver/grey uniforms burst out of a drift, leaping on the pair. The one who pounced on Black Tip was more fortunate than his comrade who'd had the misfortune to encounter Kayto; he only suffered a blow to the ribs and a set of claws lightly digging into the back of his neck. His partner was almost decapitated and lay lifeless in the trampled snow.

The surviving sentry rolled over and examined the claws now an inch from his chest. His pale blue eyes travelled upwards to regard the dark emerald ones glaring at him, and he made a swift decision. Carefully extending both paws out and laying them flat in the snow on either side of his body, he said urbanely, "Or we could start again. Good day to you, and what brings you to this region… sir?"

Kayto reluctantly smiled slightly. "Wise decision, stoat."

"Beg pardon, sir, but I'm a ferret," the guard replied, risking lifting his head a fraction. The wildcat examined him closely and saw that this was true; he was merely a white ferret with those odd pale eyes and black tipping not only his tail but his paws as well. The other, dead sentry was just an ermine and unworthy of consideration.

"Well, whatever," he conceded. "Do you know the name of Greeneyes?"

The ferret considered his options, realised he had none and replied in the same urbane and civilised manner. "I do indeed, sir, and would I be right in thinking that you're related to our very own Lord Lisk? You have the look of him about you, and of course there is that trinket about your neck…"

Kayto relaxed slightly, intrigued by the sentry's unconventional yet easygoing manner and apparent lack of fear. "That is not your concern, ferret. What's your name, anyway?"

Unabashed by the reproof, the vermin attempted a salute whilst lying flat on his back in the snow. "Razorfang, sir, or Raze for short…"

"Well, Raze, you are going to tell me everything you know about Lisk Greeneyes."

Pale blue-grey eyes met brilliant dark emerald green. Raze swallowed and concluded that yes, he was going to do just that. Clearing his throat, he started talking.

(Inspiration has just died painfully, so I shall end this not-very-good very short chapter here. The next chapter will have some actual plot and action in it, I promise. This fic is dragging… Has anyone seen my muse?)


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